


The Night the King Fell

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Scene, Friendship, Gen, The Reichenbach Fall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-18
Updated: 2012-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-29 18:08:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/322682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>**SPOILERS** This story contains spoilers for The Reichenbach Fall. An Alternate Scene fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night the King Fell

**Author's Note:**

> When Sherlock and John ran, handcuffed together, they didn't expect to find Lestrade blocking their path.
> 
> This was done pretty quickly, but it was in my head and needed to be let out.

“There isn’t much time.”

Sherlock and John found themselves at something of an impasse when their path was blocked by Lestrade, their backs pressed to the tall fence they’d just climbed over. It was still two against one, John reasoned, handcuffed or not. They could probably still make it by him. They both had experience in fighting, after all. The fact that he’d just thought those things about Lestrade—about _Greg_ —of all people, made his stomach knot painfully.

“What are you talking about?” he said instead, licking his dry lips.

“They’ll come ‘round this way soon,” Lestrade clarified, standing before them with his hands in his pockets. “So this will have to be quick.”

“What?” John pressed again.

Sherlock was curiously silent, staring at the DI fixedly.

“You know, I’m a pretty good fighter. Can hold my own, anyway. Still, no one would think it strange, what happened. I ran after you two just like the Chief Super asked and I _did_ find you, but they all know me. How I like to do things peaceably. Thing of it is, you two are on the run. And being on the run makes people change sometimes. It can make good people violent,” Lestrade explained easily.

“What the hell are you on about? Sherlock, we need to—“

“Quiet, John.”

Though Sherlock had addressed his flatmate, his eyes had remained on Lestrade.

“I tried to talk to you, tried to make you both see reason and come back so we could get this all sorted. But you wouldn’t have it. So I had to resort to more drastic measures,” Lestrade said. As he spoke, John could see him reaching for something at his belt. His baton. John felt sick. This wasn’t how things were supposed to happen. “This brings us back to that two against one thing. Of course, I wasn’t anticipating how… _formidable_ you could both be, even while handcuffed together. Now, I didn’t get a good look, but I’m pretty sure it was Sherlock who beaned me upside the head.”

John still had yet to figure out what Lestrade was babbling about. It seemed like utter madness, and yet the man’s eyes retained their clarity.

“You both thought I was unconscious, but I guess that’s what being on the run like this does to you. You get sloppy. If either of you had checked, you would have noticed that I wasn’t completely unconscious. If you’d noticed that, I don’t think you would have started talking about how you were going back to Addlestone,” Lestrade said. “Not a very smart move. I’ll end up leading the rest of the Yard right to you.”

“But we’re not going to— _oh_ ,” John murmured, realization dawning on him at last. He frowned and looked to Lestrade. “But why? Why now?”

“Because,” he said with a heavy sigh, “I chose my side. I had to follow procedure, I had to do my job… but it shouldn’t have come to this.”

“You’ll lose everything,” Sherlock said flatly.

“One way or another,” Lestrade agreed. He flipped the baton in his hand, holding it handle-side out to Sherlock. “Make it count.”

Sherlock took the baton in hand. John took a good, long look at the man in front of them. He stood still and patient, waiting. There was a half-cocked grin on his lips as he tried to go for something casual, but John had never seen his dark eyes look so sad. It was an apology. And a goodbye, in some ways. John didn’t have time to speak before Sherlock had raised the baton and brought it down in a wide, sweeping arc. There was the sickening _crack_ as it connected with Lestrade’s temple and a split second later, the man’s knees buckled.

“Catch him, _catch him_ ,” Sherlock was saying urgently, already reaching forward.

Lestrade’s weight collapsed against them and together they gently eased him to the pavement. John felt a guilty stab when he saw blood running down one half of the unconscious DI’s face. He had to suddenly remind himself that head wounds, even minor ones such as this, bled quite a bit. His pulse was steady and already he could see that it wouldn’t be long before Lestrade regained consciousness. Sherlock had known what he was doing when he’d made the hit. Thank God.

“Christ. Christ,” He chanted, swiping a hand over his face.

“And so Sir Boast-a-Lot struck down King Arthur with his own sword.”

John had barely heard the muttered words, but turned to look sharply at Sherlock. “What was that?”

“Nothing. You’re hearing things,” Sherlock responded tersely. “Come on. We need to move.”

However, before Sherlock made any move to stand, he placed a hand on Lestrade’s shoulder. He studied the man’s face intently for all of ten seconds before squeezing his shoulder and rising. Before he knew it, they were running again. John stared back the way they’d come at the still form of the inspector on the ground. Unmoving. Silent.

“He’ll be waking up in approximately twenty three seconds,” Sherlock informed him, not looking back.

John nodded and faced forward. Lestrade had bought them some time by choosing to throw his own co-workers off their scent. It would cost him, as Sherlock had put it, everything.  There was no doubt about it. Perhaps it would be too little too late…

Regardless, they wouldn’t waste it.


End file.
